Love Stories
by PlayerPiano
Summary: A collection of romantic vignettes about Victor and Victoria, from the end of the movie's events onward.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I don't own these characters and I'm not being paid, but I really love them anyway. I wanted to write some V/V fluff, and so I did. I couldn't come up with a good full-length story, so these are just vignettes. I'll keep updating as I have ideas. Ignore all my previous stories, these don't necessarily fit in. They're just for fluffy fun, because there really isn't enough V/V romance out there. Enjoy!

 **Love Stories**

 **1**

When the last of the butterflies had disappeared, and the last of the people in the church had filtered out around them, Victor and Victoria began to walk back toward the village. They went slowly, taking their time.

Above all, Victor felt a profound sense of peace. Melancholy, too, and loss, but mostly his heart felt full. Warmth and contentment flooded him. Victoria was solid and warm at his side, her arm threaded through his. The scent of dry dead flowers wafted up from the bouquet she held.

When they got to the middle of the bridge over the river, they paused. Victor wasn't quite ready to pass back through the village gates. It was as if a spell would be broken. Better to stand out here, enjoying the moonlight and the night air, and Victoria's companionship.

He watched as she pulled the wedding ring from her finger. The ring that villain had put there. The place where the brute had kicked him throbbed a bit. The memory of Victoria's face, above a sword to her throat, flashed in his mind and he swallowed hard as he shooed the memory away. He managed to return her smile when she looked up at him.

"This belongs to you," she said, sounding almost shy. "Or was to belong to you. We couldn't get another on short notice, and I wanted something to…Anyway. This is yours, if you still want it."

She held up the ring, her eyes warm and kind. Victor could look into those eyes forever. To think how close he'd come to never seeing them again. After a moment, he took the matching ring from his jacket pocket. That ring, which had been through so much, started so much. Meant so much.

"And this is yours," he said, holding it out. The ring caught the moonlight and glinted. "I'm sorry it took so long to return to you. If you still—that is, if you don't mind that—well. If you still want it."

"I do," Victoria said, and held out her left hand. Gently, solemnly, Victor slid the wedding band onto its rightful finger.

"I'd like mine, too," said Victor, putting out his own hand. With a smile that lit up her face, Victoria put the matching ring on his wedding finger. Yesterday he'd worried that it would feel like a manacle being clamped shut. But here, in the moonlight with Victoria, it felt like a loving promise.

"I feel as if we've just been married," Victoria said, the ghost of a laugh in her voice. Victor grinned.

"I feel the same," he said. "I think we have."

And he bent down just as Victoria tilted her face upward. Their lips met, gently, a sealing of their pact. Pastor Galswells, their parents, the village might not see this as binding, but the two of them did. They were united at last.

It was time to go back home.

 **2**

Victoria flat-out refused to go back to her parents' house after the night of the dead.

"I shall do as I please," she'd said to Victor as they'd walked home that night. "I've done more than enough for my parents, I think."

And, surprising even herself, she'd moved right into the Van Dort house. Victor led her up the steps, through the front door, and into the parlor to wait for his parents to return. After they did, safe and sound, she simply didn't leave.

The arrangement was easy enough. All of her things had already been moved there in advance of the wedding. Of course, for propriety's sake, Victoria took a room in the same wing as Mrs. Van Dort, while Victor kept his old room at the top of the house. They certainly couldn't use the rooms set aside for them, not without being properly married. But they still spent nearly all of every day together. After nearly losing one another for good, neither of them wanted to be apart for too long.

On her third night at Victor's, Victoria sat at the small desk in her room. She'd already changed into her nightgown and robe, and had let her hair down, intending to braid it just before she retired. She was trying to write a short note to her parents. Nothing she could think of sounded correct. The effort was making her cross and sad.

Three days, and not a word from them. Hildegarde had come by to give her news of them. Apparently both Mother and Father were taking their time to recover from witnessing the wave of the dead in their hall.

"And what about the news of what happened to me? Of Barkis?" Victoria had asked. Hildegarde had looked away awkwardly, remaining silent until changing the subject to whether Victoria had all she needed. Victoria had set her jaw, hurt but not surprised. Hildegarde had left shortly thereafter.

Why did her parents deserve a note? Victoria crumpled her latest attempt, which had devolved into telling her father and mother just _precisely_ what she thought of them, and threw it into the wastebasket. She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and stared at it.

She glanced at the bouquet of dead flowers on the dresser. She'd put them in a vase for now, despite the fact that they no longer needed water. Sometime soon she'd have to put them away carefully, to keep them safe. Victoria was not one to take such a gift lightly or carelessly.

Victor would be in his room by now, surely. Victoria wondered what he was doing, how he spent the time between the drawing room after dinner and bed. She didn't want to be alone with angry thoughts just now. After a last glance at her empty sheet of stationery, Victoria got up. She put out all the lamps, stepped into her slippers, and left the room as quietly as she could.

Victor had shown her his room briefly on her tour of the mansion. It was easy enough to find again. Top of the house, facing the square. When she got to his door, she knocked softly.

"Victoria," he said when he opened the door. Was he pleased or surprised? Both? He'd put on his nightclothes, as well—striped pajamas and a frayed old green dressing gown.

"I wanted to see you," she told him. She held her robe together a little self-consciously, very aware of how little she was wearing.

"Is everything all right?" Victor asked. He looked her up and down, his gaze worried when he met her eyes again.

"I'm not a bother, am I?" she asked in return, deliberately not answering his question. He grinned at her, making her smile, too.

"No! Not at all, no. Do come in, please," he said, stepping aside.

They sat together on the edge of the bed, facing the window. Very close. Their sides touched. Victoria glanced around. It was a spare sort of room. Only the necessary furniture. Lots of books stacked around the desk by the window. The desk very well-used. A globe. Some photographs. A scholar's room.

"What happened to the drawings you had on the wall?" Victoria asked, noticing how newly bare the space looked. She remembered all the sketches of different butterflies he'd had up. They weren't there anymore.

"Oh," he said. "I was organizing. Preparing for—well, there are a few I should frame properly, I thought. To put in our room."

 _Our room_. Was she the only one who felt a little spark in the air as the thought of it passed between them?

"When do you suppose that will be?" she asked.

"As soon as possible, I hope," he replied.

"Suppose—suppose our parents refuse to permit it," said Victoria, giving full voice to what had been weighing on her all day. Mother and Father hadn't ever liked the idea of a match with Victor. They were sure to like it even less now. Not that she should care, given how they'd behaved. A swell of anger rose up her chest and throat.

"Then we'll marry anyway," said Victor stoutly. "We'll go somewhere else if we have to. Elope."

He put his arm around her waist and held her gently. Victoria looked up at him, taken by his tone. It was strong and sure. Like the other night, in the church. So different from the way he'd been at their wedding rehearsal. She liked him like this. Confident and determined. It was rather like seeing the man instead of the boy.

Knowing it was for her, for them, made it even better.

They sat together quietly for a moment. A cloud settled over her, the same one that had been following her today, one of worry and stress. So much had happened over the past few days, and so much was still uncertain. She leaned into Victor, hoping his warmth would help dispel it. It didn't work.

"I can't help thinking," she began. Her throat suddenly went dry. She tried to swallow to no avail. She tried again. "I keep on thinking, what if-"

What if. What if her parents pulled off some new trick to keep her away from Victor? What if Victor's parents changed their minds? How could they build a life after eloping? What if Barkis had succeeded in dragging her away? What if Victor had died? What if he'd chosen his dead bride instead? What if everything had gone wrong?

But Victoria couldn't bring herself to say any of this out loud. It all sounded too ungrateful. Too mean-spirited. She was here, wasn't she? Not wanting to cry, Victoria bit the inside of her lip, hard, and stared at one of the empty places on the wall.

Clumsily Victor grasped for her hand. When he caught it, he held it tightly, and pulled her even closer. She felt him rest his cheek against her head. And she felt it when he sighed a little into her hair.

"Never mind," she murmured.

"Are you certain you're all right?" Victor asked.

"Yes," she lied. "It's simply been...a long few days."

"Indeed," he said.

They were quiet again. Sitting here, in Victor's arms, his breath on her hair and his heart beating such that she could feel it against her shoulder, she felt a little better. They were here. They were alive. They were together.

"Would you like..." Victor began, but let his sentence trail off. When she looked up and met his eyes, her heart melted for him all over again. That affectionate, kind, loving look. She still couldn't quite believe how close she'd come to never seeing that look ever again. How could she ever have lived without it?

"Yes?" she prompted, hoping he could see her feelings in her eyes just as easily.

"Would you like to stay?" he asked. "Here? With me, I mean. Tonight."

Victoria couldn't help smiling a little. Here was the Victor she remembered from their first meeting. Shy, unsure, just a little bumbling. She loved him this way, too. She'd loved that bit of him first. The boy was still in there, too.

"I would love to," she admitted, shy again herself. She felt her cheeks go a little warm. "But what would everyone say?"

Victor and Victoria just looked at each other for a long, long moment.

"Who cares?" they both said at exactly the same time. They laughed a little, then removed their dressing gowns and put out the lamp. Life was far too short for propriety.

It was a snug fit in Victor's narrow bed, but they managed. The covers were lighter than she was used to, the pillow a little softer. She put her nose to it surreptitiously, just to see if it carried his scent, as Victor climbed in beside her. How strangely natural this felt, getting into bed together. As if they'd done it for years. Just as natural as everything else between them had felt so far.

Victoria lay on her side, and Victor spooned himself against her. The closeness was wonderful and thrilling. This was the nearest to each other they'd ever been. His chest was warm against her back, his knees tucked into the back of hers. His arm was curled around her. She took his hand, rather boldly, and pressed it to her chest, twining her fingers between his. She hoped he could feel her heart beating.

"Good night, Victoria," he whispered into the dark.

"Good night, Victor," she whispered back.

 **3**

"Let's just get this over with," grumbled Lord Everglot. After handing Victoria off to Victor in a very perfunctory sort of way, he stood off to the side with Lady Everglot. Victor's parents stood beside them. The atmosphere was subdued.

Well, subdued for everyone else, anyway. Victor was thrilled that this day had come at last. He'd had enough of waiting. Particularly after the night before last, when Victoria had shared his bed. Once his mother had found out about that, she'd forced the marriage question with the Everglots. Victor glanced at his soon to be in-laws. They looked even more sour and gray than usual, glaring in that same way they had at the wedding rehearsal. This time, Victor was not intimidated in the least.

He held out his hand, and Victoria slid hers into his. He liked the way their hands felt together.

They'd gathered in the Van Dort parlor on a rainy morning. No flowers, no fanfare, no breakfast or reception, no other guests. Which suited Victor fine. All he wanted was to be properly married. Victoria had claimed to feel the same, and he hoped that she wasn't too disappointed by the lack of romance.

He'd make it up to her later.

For her part, Victoria truly didn't mind the lack of ceremony and fanfare. As far as she was concerned, she'd married Victor on the bridge that night of the dead. That had been moving and romantic enough. This was just for show. She'd received quite the lecture from her future mother-in-law after spending a night in Victor's room. Funnily enough, news of that lovely night had been what had galvanized her parents into action about allowing the wedding. They were still disapproving, embarrassed, dour, and smelled of sherry, but Victoria didn't care. She was starting a new family. She squeezed Victor's fingers, and he returned the pressure.

Victor had been tempted to wear his spider-mended coat, just as a nod to what had gone before, but ultimately decided against it. Today was about a fresh start, a second chance, a new beginning. So he'd opted for his nice morning suit. Victoria, for much the same reasons, had opted not to wear her white bridal gown. She already felt like a wife, not a bride, so she wore a gown of dove gray silk instead.

They took three steps up to where Pastor Galswells, still a little gray-faced and drawn, stood. Not even a makeshift altar this time. He just stood next to the sideboard, staff in hand for support. No props, no candles or wine, no speeches. Just the vows.

"You first," he told Victor coldly.

Victor raised his hand and began, looking into Victoria's eyes the entire time. With not a stop nor stumble, and meaning every single word, he recited his vows.

"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

And he pulled the ring from his pocket—he and Victoria had traded them back that morning—and slid it onto Victoria's finger.

"Now you," the pastor said to Victoria.

She raised her own hand, squeezing Victor's fingers with the other. When she spoke there was a husky note to her voice, as if she might be tearing up a little. But she never wavered as she made her own vows, and she never broke eye contact with Victor.

"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

For convenience, she'd worn the ring on her right hand. She slipped it off, and, holding Victor's fingers tenderly, put the ring onto his finger. They both looked down at their joined ringed hands, then beamed at one another.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," Galswells announced, sounding almost bored.

Without being instructed, Victor and Victoria kissed. They ignored the mild harrumphs and sighs of disapproval from their parents.

 _I'm married,_ Victoria thought, with none of the profound sadness and disappointment of the first time she'd been pronounced a wife. This time she felt nothing but joy.

 _I'm married,_ Victor thought, with nary a panicky jolt. _I'm a husband_.

It felt just right.


	2. Chapter 2

**Love Stories**

 **4**

They always caught him by surprise, those little moments when he fell in love with his wife all over again.

Tonight, Victor was watching her from across their small sitting room. He'd just happened to glance up from the journal he was reading, and something about her caught his eye. Victoria sat in the armchair, a standing embroidery hoop before her.

She was very talented at handiwork. Most quiet evenings she had a project to work on. Already she'd knitted a small throw for the back of the sofa, crocheted a lace runner for their end table, and embroidered small designs on the edges of their pillowcases. It never would have occurred to Victor to make such home improvements. Her creations added to the coziness and personality of their rooms.

He didn't know what she was working on now, but she was toiling away diligently at it. Victor liked to watch her face while she worked. Often she wore a serene expression. When she hit a snag, as sometimes happened, her forehead would crease and her mouth turn down. And when the problem was fixed, she'd smile a little to herself. Watching her hands impressed him as well-she was nimble-fingered and confident, and the lovely things that appeared from under her touch were something like magic.

This project must have been going well, for though her brow was creased in concentration, the edges of her mouth turned up in a pleased sort of way. In and out went the different colored threads, each making a small hissing noise as they traveled through the fabric. She was always so still while she worked, except for her face and her hands.

Then she looked up and caught his eye. And he felt it all over again. That warm hand enveloping his heart. The light from the lamp was making her eyes twinkle. When she smiled at him, a small, private smile, his stomach dropped as if he'd missed a tread going downstairs.

She turned her attention to her work again, and Victor, suddenly warm all over, went back to his reading.

 **5**

It was very early morning, the sky just beginning to lighten. Victoria, snuggled deep in the bedclothes against the chill of the room, opened her eyes. She looked at Victor there beside her, breathing deeply and evenly. Trying not to disturb him, she edged closer, so that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

Eventually he stirred. "Good morning," he said, voice thick with sleep. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. He still hadn't quite opened his eyes yet.

"Morning," Victoria replied in a whisper. She studied his face, his eyes closed and his hair mussed.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"I think so."

"No...bad dreams at all?"

Victor cracked an eye open. "No," he replied after a moment. "Not that I remember. Why?"

Should she tell him? Victoria caressed his arm and thought.

Last night, very late, she'd been awakened by Victor talking in his sleep. Just mumbling that she couldn't make out. She'd felt his hand on her hip, so she'd rolled over to face him. The room had been pitch-dark, so that she couldn't make out his expression.

"Victoria. You're still here," he'd said, with what sounded like profound relief.

"Of course," she'd replied, confused.

Then, much to her surprise, he'd embraced her fully. He put one leg over both of hers, wrapped her in his arms, and buried his face in her neck. Almost as if he intended to make love to her. Victoria's arms were pinioned awkwardly beneath his weight. She'd felt his breath on her, his hair brushing against her cheek. His tight hold loosened after a moment, his breathing became more regular, and she realized he'd fallen asleep again.

For a little while she'd just lain there, wondering. Eventually she'd nodded off again as well, and sometime during the night they'd separated, and slept undisturbed until now.

"Oh," she said now, inching closer so that she could put a hand to his chest, "nothing. You mumbled a bit in your sleep, that's all."

"I hope I didn't disturb you."

She recalled the way he'd held her, his tone when he'd discovered she was still beside him. She ran her hand through his hair, looked with fondness on his sleepy face.

"Oh no," she told him. "You didn't."

 **6**

"Why does everything have turrets?" Victor asked, frowning at the catalog in his hands.

"It's the fashion," Victoria replied, eyes on her own booklet.

They sat side by side on the sofa in their little sitting room, each holding a catalog of house plans. Victor's father had pushed the pile of booklets on him after lunch that day. A house was to be their wedding gift, provided they chose from among these plans. So Victor and Victoria were searching for a home they could agree on.

Not very many were to their taste. These were all mansions, ranging from the sort that were just large houses to the sort that the Van Dorts had built, with enormous halls, tall ceilings, and so many rooms Victor didn't even know what they were all for. Most of these bigger ones were fronted with brick or stone and reminded him of banks or asylums. He'd never really given much thought to architecture, and wasn't really sure what he was looking for. He figured he'd know it when he saw it.

He'd found quite a few modest plans he'd been quite fond of, until Victoria had pointed out that he was looking at the section for carriage houses and outbuildings. Unlike him, she seemed to know precisely the kind of house she liked. All the designs that pleased her were of houses on the smaller side, but that somehow still managed to be rambling. They had enormous porches, decorative stained glass windows, elaborate shinglework, and chimneys going every which-way. And the turrets of all shapes and sizes, like little castles.

All a bit too busy for Victor. And still felt a bit too big.

But it surprised him, a little, how very much he wanted to build her a house. To then put her in it, live with her in it, see her enjoy it every day. When he imagined each room, he mentally placed Victoria in it to see how she would fit. Somehow it seemed an almost bird-like instinct—to build a nice, sturdy nest for one's mate, in hopes they'd remain year after year.

"What's funny?" asked Victoria, amused. "You've an enormous grin on your face."

"Oh, nothing," he replied, a trifle embarrassed by his sentimental thoughts. All the same he reached over and squeezed her knee.

"So many bedrooms," he mused, looking at a plan which boasted a second floor that looked like a rabbit warren. "Why do we need so many?"

"How many children would you like to have?" Victoria asked blandly, looking at him sideways. Victor fumbled and dropped his pencil, then had to fish for it in the chasm between the sofa cushion and the armrest.

"I don't...I'm not...a few?" he said. "I hadn't considered it."

Victoria just smiled. "We'll need adjoining rooms, of course," she said, turning a page. "So that would be two bedrooms already."

Victor turned to look at her, surprised. "Adjoining rooms?" he asked. He frowned. Right now they shared a room and a bed. She'd never complained about it. He certainly had no complaints about it.

"Well, yes," she said, sounding surprised herself. "It's what's done. Married people have separate bedrooms."

Well, maybe _some_ did. His own parents did. He imagined Victoria's parents probably did. But the thought of not sharing a room with Victoria seemed so strange. He felt as if he were being kicked out into the cold.

"You don't enjoy sharing a room?" he asked tentatively, trying not to sound too hurt.

"Oh goodness, that isn't at all what I meant!" Victoria apologized, reaching to stroke his arm reassuringly. "Simply that it's the genteel thing to do. You'd at least want your own dressing room, wouldn't you?"

Slightly mollified, Victor toyed with his pencil for a moment. "You're sure I haven't been too... _attentive_?" he asked, thinking over their nights and mornings the past two months in their shared quarters. She'd never _said_ anything, but then, Victoria was very kind and obliging.

Now it was her turn to blush and fumble. "No, no," she whispered, even though they were alone. "Not at all."

"Not attentive enough?"

"No! That is, it's...we're...it's _fine_. That's all fine."

"But you'd prefer adjoining rooms?"

"No, I wouldn't," Victoria said. Her cheeks were incredibly rosy, and Victor felt a little guilty for teasing. "I'd...you know I like...Oh, never mind. Please forget I mentioned it."

And she buried her face in her catalog. Victor grinned a little, then reached and put his hand on her leg again. This time he left it there.

"A dressing room might not be a bad idea," he said, by way of smoothing things over. She just nodded and turned a page. Her blush was beginning to fade, and he let the moment pass.

"This one," Victoria said after a while. She leaned over to show him a plan. "What about this one?"

At first glance, Victor only saw more of the features he didn't care for. This porch was a little smaller, but still large. More of the lacy, intricate gingerbread trim. The suggested color scheme for painting the exterior made him a little dizzy. And the turret, of course.

Victoria read his mind. "Those are only suggested details," she told him, pointing them out. "The trim, the shinglework, even the cupola. We can choose something simpler, if we like."

That in mind, Victor took the catalog from her and leaned closer to the lamp. He had a look at the floor plan and saw that it wasn't nearly as rambling as others. Quite modest and symmetrical. A decent entry. A parlor and a dining room of similar size to either side. A kitchen and study toward the back of the house.

"Not _too_ many bedrooms," Victoria said, leaning against him to point at the page. "These three are all adjoining. A room for us, a nursery, a dressing room, and two extras besides."

Victor nodded, thinking. It _was_ a coherent layout. There was a third floor, but it was mostly attic, and two tiny rooms that were marked as servants' chambers. A nice-sized bathroom. It didn't sprawl. It was cozy to look at, but would be big enough to be comfortable.

"It's a very _modest_ turret," she said coaxingly. "Only two stories."

"It is a nice house," Victor admitted. Victoria smiled happily. "We'll set this one aside while we keep looking."

Victoria looked a little disappointed at that, but Victor wasn't ready to commit yet. Besides, the sooner they chose, the sooner they'd have to have a house built, and that meant owning and running a house, which he did not feel prepared for.

But then again, it would be awfully nice to give his wife a house to live in. To have a place that was really theirs. If only he could magic one into existence, complete with furnishings and a staff.

"I think that's enough for one evening," said Victor, and Victoria agreed. Though he noticed she looked rather longingly at the house plan he'd earmarked and set aside.

Somehow, in that moment, Victor knew the design she'd picked would be their home. He could take as much time as he wanted, could shop around as much as he pleased, but that look on his wife's face right then said it all. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"Shall we go to bed?" he asked. Then, teasingly, "Unless you'd prefer that I sleep out here."

"Oh, stop," she replied, standing up and smoothing her skirts. She looked down at him, a very small smile on her lips. "Come to bed with me."

He did not need to be told twice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Love Stories**

 **7**

Victoria perched on a large rock by the water, parasol tilted to protect her face from the sun. The river was narrow and shallow here, sheltered by trees. It was the first truly warm day they'd had this season. Such clear-skied, warm days were few, and they'd decided to enjoy it.

As a girl she'd never spent much time out of doors. As a young lady she'd spent even less. But Victor knew all the paths and quiet spots and glades within a mile of the village in any direction. Once he'd become interested in butterflies, he'd spent a lot of time in the forest. She hadn't realized there were so many lovely places so close to home until he'd begun to show her.

She sat back and arranged herself a bit more comfortably on her rock. The remains of their picnic were stowed in the hamper on the bank. The air smelled of river water and sun-warmed leaves, and the sunshine was hot on her back. She watched Victor wade about in the stream, his trousers rolled up nearly to his knees. He'd left his shoes and his jacket on the rock near where she sat.

He looked so boyish out in the water, just in his shirtsleeves and with his rolled-up trousers. She studied his profile, the way his dark hair flopped forward as he looked down at the stream. In the sunshine he didn't look nearly so pale as he usually did. When he was outside, she'd noticed, he looked positively hale and hearty. It pleased her to see him so.

Just then he turned back to look at her, and when their eyes met her heart fluttered. Just like that first time he'd met her gaze at the piano. He was grinning, hands on his hips.

"Lots of fish out here!" he called.

"Must be the trout your father stocked," she called back. It was a shame they'd all wind up in cans.

"They swim right around your ankles, it's remarkable!"

With that, he looked down again at the fish, still with that little boyish grin on his face. The stream was gentle here, shallow and slow. It was unlikely she'd be swept away. She'd never waded in her life. Victor was plainly enjoying himself so much that she wanted to share it. And she'd like to see the fish. She glanced at Victor again, then quickly around to be sure no one else was there. Satisfied they were alone, she set aside her parasol and bent to unbutton her shoes.

 **8**

"You don't suppose there's something wrong, do you?" Victoria asked, pulling the last pin from her hair and beginning to brush it out.

"With?" Victor asked in return.

Victoria bit her lip, unsure of how to put it. They'd just retired to their rooms after another of Nell's lavish dinner parties. She'd endured yet another hour in the drawing room filled with women who wondered why she wasn't yet expecting a baby after nearly a year of marriage.

Truthfully, she was beginning to wonder the same thing.

"Well," she said. "With...with me, I suppose."

"Don't be silly, there's nothing wrong with you," Victor said easily as he shrugged out of his dinner jacket and hung it on the valet. "You mustn't let my mother and her friends bother you."

Victoria turned to the mirror above the dresser and removed her heavy earrings one by one. Her reflection showed her how her mouth was turned down at the corners, her eyes troubled and heavy-lidded. She removed the matching and equally heavy necklace, glad to be free of it. She never liked the weight of the sort of jewelry her mother-in-law expected her to wear.

"Would you like me to ring the maid for you?" Victor asked, now in just his shirt and trousers, his good shoes in one hand. "Or can you manage?"

Usually one of the many housemaids helped Victoria extricate herself from her evening finery after an event. But tonight she wanted privacy. She couldn't have a delicate conversation about babies in front of a servant, and she was afraid the moment might be lost.

"Would you mind terribly?" she asked in return, gesturing toward the back of her dress.

"Not at all."

After stowing away his shoes, Victor came up behind her and began undoing the row of tiny buttons up her back. She watched him in the mirror.

"Do you think it's strange," she said, resisting the urge to bite her lip, "that we don't have a baby yet?"

Victor paused in his unbuttoning and met her eyes in the mirror. "Not... _strange_ ," he replied, back to work. "I suppose I hadn't thought much about it. When it happens, it happens. There, that's the last one."

 _Spoken just like someone who will not have to do the bulk of the work_ , Victoria thought, even as she thanked him. She stepped out of her dress and draped it carefully over a chair for the maid to collect in the morning.

"You _do_ want children?" she asked as she removed her petticoats. It was a ridiculous question, somehow. People married and they had children, that was how the world worked. Was there even supposed to be a question of _wanting_ them?

Victor was frowning a little, brow slightly creased in thought. "You know," he said eventually, as if coming to a realization, "I do. Yes. I really do." This last was said in a much lighter tone, and he was looking at her fondly. So fondly she almost wanted to blush.

Without being asked, he set about loosening her corset for her. Little sighs of relief escaped her every time a string was loosened enough for her to take a deeper breath.

"You do as well?" he asked, tugging at a particularly tight lace. "Want children? Though I suppose that's a silly question."

"No," she assured him. "It's not silly." But it wasn't something anyone had ever asked her before. She was meant to have them. Her entire duty in life was to have children. To _want_ children. Everybody said that a woman couldn't really be happy without babies. Though her own mother had never seemed all that thrilled. And Victoria didn't consider herself unhappy at all.

She took a deep breath as she eased out of her corset, freed until morning. She smoothed and pulled at her combinations, wrinkly from confinement. Did she want babies? She assumed she did, if vaguely. Was _that_ the problem with her? She didn't want them badly enough? Victoria frowned as she slid off her stockings and reached for a fresh nightgown to put on.

Across the room Victor was putting on his pajamas, his back to her. So she took off her combinations and pulled her nightdress over her head. When she glanced at him again she saw that he was watching her avidly. This time she did blush a little. She blew out the lamp on the dresser and climbed into bed, Victor getting in beside her.

In bed, in the dark, they were quiet. Both of them were on their backs, staring up at the ceiling, their sides touching. Victoria was still thinking. The baby she had wouldn't just be any baby. It would be hers and Victor's. Theirs to create and love and raise, a bit of each of them. She imagined showing off a blanketed bundle to a pleased and proud Victor. A pale, dark-haired daughter to teach how to knit. A boy with a heart-shaped face and his father's aptitude for music. Sitting in a rocking chair with a newborn in her arms, the parlor cozy and quiet. Family picnics and walks and dinners, all bright and cheerful and loving, so different from her own girlhood. At last, she smiled, and felt a rush of emotion.

"Yes," she whispered into the dark. "I do want children. Your children."

"That will really make a difference, won't it?" he said. "That they'll be ours."

The bedclothes rustled as Victor reached over and felt for her hand. When he found it, he squeezed her fingers.

"We'll have them," he told her. "Someday."

Someday. Near enough to daydream about, but not so near as to worry about. Victoria drifted off, imagining herself and Victor and their own little brood of children, somewhere in the hazy future.


	4. Chapter 4

**Love Stories**

 **9**

 _I survived a swordfight armed only with a fork,_ Victor reminded himself. _I've been to the land of the dead. I nearly married a dead woman. I almost died. I can handle owning a house._

Victor closed his house key in his fist. He stood on the circular gravel drive, staring up at his newly completed home. Victoria stood beside him, taking it all in.

"It's certainly different from the other houses in town," he said.

"And it's lovely," she replied, taking his arm.

Their house sat on a large piece of land just opposite the church. The village walls were about a mile or so distant. There was room for a garden off to one side, and the carriage house sat beyond. All this space just to themselves.

They'd chosen to paint the house dark green, with cream trim. A few dark red accents here and there. The turret _was_ modest, he had to admit. It was a modest sort of house all around. It looked much nicer in person than it had in the catalog. The turret wasn't so bad at all, and the porch was welcoming. Now that it was here, complete, it looked like _theirs_.

Together they walked up the porch steps and stopped at the large front door. Victor opened it and let Victoria go inside first. He heard her breath catch as he walked in behind her, closing the door as he did so.

"Oh," she breathed, looking around, eyes enormous. "It's perfect."

"And this is just the entry," he said with a grin.

Victor had seen the house more recently than Victoria had. He and his father had done one last walk-through after the furniture had been moved in and the wallpapering completed. This was all new to her, though, because she'd wanted to be surprised. The delighted look on her face made him happy. Here was the home he'd wanted to give her, and her happiness in it pleased him.

For his own part, he was still a little nervous about the new responsibility. But Victoria's enthusiasm was catching. And the colors and furnishings she'd chosen were quite nice. He slipped his house key into his pocket, and resolved to save his worries for later and enjoy exploring his new home with Victoria.

The front hall had been completed in honey-colored wood. To either side were sets of pocket doors leading to the parlor and the dining room. Straight ahead was the foot of the wide staircase, and beyond that the hall to the study.

A thought suddenly struck him as he watched Victoria taking it all in. He all but put a palm to his forehead.

"I was meant to carry you inside, wasn't I?" he asked. She turned from the parlor doorway and smiled.

"It isn't mandatory," she told him, and stepped into the parlor, saying, "The wallpaper looks wonderful. I'm pleased I decided on the violets. Oh! And the sofa! It fits perfectly…"

Such the tour went. The dining room, done up in cream and blue. The kitchen and pantry, much smaller than the ones they'd grown up with. Down the hall to the study, with its simple green wallpaper. Victor's desk and books had already been moved in, and already had a comfortably shabby sort of look to it that suited Victor fine.

Upstairs the rooms were a bit starker. Only Victoria and Victor's bedrooms actually had beds in them. They both admired the bathroom, with the deep claw-footed tub Victoria had chosen. She glanced into the spare rooms, and then paused an extra moment at the room they planned to be the nursery. When she smiled up at him, her eyes were shining. Victor couldn't help but smile hugely back.

As they strolled and admired and daydreamed, it occurred to Victor how empty the house would feel until they filled it with children. Someday. In the future. When he felt more prepared. He patted at his pocket again.

"Oh," said Victoria, peering into the room which was to be Victor's. "This is smaller than I expected."

The room _had_ looked much bigger on the plan. In reality, it was more of an antechamber to Victoria's room. The door separating the two spaces was thin and had no lock. Not that he'd ever dream of locking it. Just enough room for a narrow bed, a dresser, and a wash-stand. He didn't mind the size. He didn't plan on spending much time in here.

The master bedroom was light and airy, with the same honey-colored wood as the rest of the house. Victoria had chosen a dusty rose for the walls, echoed in the curtains and the quilt on the four-poster bed. There was a wardrobe and a vanity table, all purchased as a set. They stood in the doorway, at the end of their tour.

"This is _lovely_ ," said Victoria. "It's just as I wanted."

"It is a nice house," said Victor. "I'm glad you're pleased."

She squeezed his hand. " _Very_ pleased," she assured him. "We'll be very happy here, I'm sure."

Victoria made to step into the bedroom, but Victor, struck with an idea, stopped her with an arm around her waist.

"I'll carry you over this threshold instead," he said, scooping her up in his arms before she had a chance to demur. And with only a little bit of a stumble, he delivered his wife into her room.

 **10**

"I often wish that we'd met sooner," Victoria remarked.

Victor smiled. "That would have been nice," he replied.

They were in each others arms in bed, snuggled under the covers. They'd been a few months in their new house. Long enough that the house was beginning to feel like home. As Victor had assumed, "Victoria's" room was actually theirs. He hadn't slept in "his" room once. The room was dark, the fireplace gone cold. They'd been up for a while.

"It would have been nice to have a friend," she added. "I've never had any."

"Neither did I," he said. He twined a lock of her hair in his fingers. "We might have spoken after church, perhaps."

"I wish we had," Victoria said warmly. She ran her fingertips up and down his arm, and he felt goosebumps rise on his skin. "All those years, in such a small village, and we never spoke once."

"I don't think your mother would have approved," he said.

"She would have made certain we had a chaperone."

Victor smiled in the dark. "You didn't have a chaperone when you met me for the first time," he reminded her. How it had frightened him, being alone with a girl for the very first time in his life. A girl he was set to marry. He'd been counting on having more people around to hide behind. Victor put his hand to his wife's face, ran a thumb over her cheekbone. How young and silly he'd been. He'd done a lot of growing up since that afternoon.

"That was different," she said, now running her fingers along his back. "We were engaged. If we'd courted properly, we'd have been chaperoned."

There was a silence. Victor continued stroking Victoria's hair, enjoying how soft it was. For a moment he was sure she'd drifted off to sleep, but then she spoke.

"What do you think it would have been like?" she asked. "If we'd courted?"

Victor thought about it. A proper courtship. Heavily chaperoned walks and teas. Parties at his mother's house. At Victoria's house. He'd have loved her company, he was sure, but the ritual of it all, the expectation, might have proved overwhelming. He remembered how sick with nerves he'd been over getting married. To have had to present himself, under his own power, with the intention of courting...he somehow didn't think he'd have been able to handle it. To have had to figure out whether Victoria desired his company would have been difficult, impossible, since he naturally would have assumed she wanted nothing to do with him. So a courtship was hard to imagine, as he couldn't even imagine getting one off the ground.

Or maybe...He looked down at her now, nude in his arms in their very own bed, in their very own house, and he couldn't imagine any other outcome to their relationship than this. He remembered how sweet she'd been when they'd first met. How she hadn't cared that he'd acted like a fool. She'd probably have been just the same had he clumsily attempted to woo her. And she would have made her feelings about him clear.

"I think it would have ended up just like this, in the end," he told her. "I think I'd have felt that I should be with you always, no matter what the circumstances."

Victoria reached up and kissed him gently on the cheek. "I feel the same," she said. "Though I would have loved to go walking with you. To write letters. Take tea..."

"We do all of that now," he pointed out. "Every day. Except the letters. And you needn't wait for days until you see me again. I'm always here."

"It's as if we saved the courting for after our marriage," she said, kissing him again. With soft and gentle fingers she touched his face, where she'd kissed. "You make me very happy, Victor. It makes me happy just to be with you. If we'd met sooner, there would have been even more happiness to spread out."

Victor grew warm, touched in the tenderest place in his heart, that place reserved just for Victoria. "You make me happy, too," he said. "And we have the rest of our lives to make up for all the years we didn't know each other."

He hoped there would be many such years, filled with many evenings in bed, just like this one.


	5. Chapter 5

11

 _Being born is tiring work_ , Victoria thought, gazing down at her newborn daughter. She hadn't any idea what time it was. The heavy curtains in the bedroom were closed and the fire was burning hot and bright against the stormy October chill, and the lamps were lit. She'd been tucked up in bed, resting with the baby, ever since the birth. Was it early evening? Late afternoon? Was she somehow outside time?

Lydia had been asleep for most of her brand-new life, when she was not eating. The baby was so long and lean and bundled, Victoria felt as if she were cradling a baguette. _My baby_ , she kept thinking to herself, nearly unable to believe it. _My own little baby, all mine._ The cradle waited beside the bed to receive the sleeping infant, but Victoria did not want to put her down. Instead she gazed at Lydia's small features, her closed eyes, her forehead wrinkled with worry even as she slept.

Being born must be confusing work, as well as tiring. It was no wonder the tiny thing was so concerned. Victoria tightened her hold, adjusted the blanket, kissed the baby's forehead, stroked her little mop of dark hair. Inhaled her smell. Brand-new and yet familiar, a scent Victoria somehow knew in her bones.

"My own little baby," she whispered, not wanting to wake the baby up. "My own little Liddie. I love you so."

This immediate depth of feeling surprised Victoria, truth be told. She'd worried, in bleaker moments, that she would feel nothing. Or worse, she would feel the same resentment and distaste her own mother did. A part of her still worried that such feelings might come, that this rosy glow would be fleeting. The thought made her ache, and she quickly pushed it away.

No. Her love for her little daughter was immediate and fierce and she never wanted to leave this spot. Never wanted to be parted even long enough to set the baby in her cradle to sleep. For now, she knew that she loved her Liddie deeply, wholly. They were of the same blood. Liddie was hers. Her own little baby. Always, no matter how old she grew or how many other children Victoria might have. Liddie would always be the first, her greatest and most surprising achievement so far.

Victoria leaned in to put her nose against her daughter's head again, and closed her eyes.

12

 _I'm imagining it, someone would have said something,_ Victor fretted to himself. He was sitting in the armchair in the bedroom, cradling his sleeping newborn while Victoria slept in the bed. Early morning sunshine peeked through the half-shut curtains. Lydia was four days old, and this was the longest he'd held her.

 _Victoria would have noticed, certainly,_ he reasoned, glancing at his sleeping wife. All the same, after a moment's indecision, Victor once again unwound baby Lydia's blanket, just enough to carefully peel out one teeny, long-fingered hand, and then the other.

Every time he counted, he only came up with nine fingers.

He mouthed the numbers to himself as he lightly touched her thumb, her index finger, all the way down to her pinkie. Then the next hand. _Six,_ _seven..._

Suddenly, Lydia jerked her hand away, pulling it up to her face. Victor jumped at the sudden movement. He was always startled when she moved, as he'd really only seen her asleep. Not only that, though. It was still so strange, so deeply strange, to hold such a fully formed small person that could move all on her own. To know, as well, that he'd had some little bit to do with her.

More than a little. Victor tucked her blanket back around her snugly as he could, and studied her face. His face, no mistake. Even at just a few days old. Her little fingers curled around her narrow chin, as though she was deep in thought. Then, amazingly, her eyes opened, and she looked up at him. Victor gave a little gasp.

He hadn't any idea if she could see him well or not with those brand-new eyes, so he leaned down a little closer. Was he imagining it, or was she studying his face, looking into his eyes? He'd never seen her with her eyes open yet. They were so dark and big in that little face, so serious and bright. Her mouth, milky at the corners, turned down just a little. Thoughtfully, Victor fancied. Profoundly. His heart felt as if it were melting.

She was so small. She was so new. So serious. And his.

"Liddie," he whispered, a grin spreading across his face. Lydia blinked slowly. He reached and touched her fingers, held tightly against her cheek. She curled up her little fist. He could feel her other arm moving about in her blanket, little fingers wiggling.

 _One more count couldn't hurt,_ he thought, and unwound her blanket again.

 **0-0**

 **Author's Note:**  
Hi friends! Not sure how back I am but I am definitely here to tell you that love stories are different after you have a baby.

Your pal,

PlayerPiano


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